


to fall

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Series: you are my obsession [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Best Friends in Love, Implied Stalking, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Valentine Special, and creepy love notes, falling love, i'm late to the party lol, mainly Promptis, more like noticing you're in love, referenced stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9793832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: Noctis realizes something he has always known and Prompto deals (terribly) with the usual odd events of his not-as-normal-as he'd-like life.(A Valentine gift for those lovely people that read my fics <3 )





	

**Author's Note:**

> So um hey! I'm a little late for Valentine's Day (this was supposed to be published two days ago but well). And if you've been wondering what I've been doing.... I'll give you a hint: I FREAKING HATE TURTLES NOW WTF. Anyway, this one shot started alright then it got real weird and sloppy at the end but I tried. Writer's block has really hit me hard this time and finishing this was a slow torture.
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and the quotes that were used here belong respectively to: Sylvia Plath, Charlotte Brontë and Dante Alighieri. (You'll know when you see them).

He realizes he’s in love on a stormy Monday night. It’s his first time too, his first falling in love this hard, this soon, this unexpectedly-well, not exactly unexpected. Looking back it was only a matter of _when_ rather than _if_ , almost as if he had been preordained to fall in love with his best friend from the very first day of high school the happy go lucky boy threw his arm around his shoulders.

But it did take him by surprise.

He’s sixteen when he realizes he is in love. He has been friends with Prompto for less than a year but it already feels like they have known each other their entire lives.

They are sitting cross legged in the living room of the new apartment he has begged his father to let him have since thoughts of imprisonment and independency started creeping up on him at the verge of his fourteenth birthday. Outside, the dark sky is weeping black tears that hit strongly against the windows and the alarming sounds cause Prompto to flinch and cower, his back pressed to the couch behind them. He was going to stay over anyway but the weather is less than ideal for a sleepover with videogames till’ late morning. Noctis knows this, knows from many random conversations in between classes of the blond’s innate fear of storms. And of bugs and heights.

The TV is on; the image on the screen is that of a paused fighting game, some new title Noctis can’t remember the name of. PAUSED, it reads on dramatic lettering. Their controllers lay abandoned a few centimeters away from their socked feet.

Drops of water drip occasionally from blond tips, they fall on the dark fabric of the sweatpants that Noctis lent him-those sweatpants that are slightly baggy on Prompto’s thinner frame and show more skin than they ever do when Noctis’s wears them. He can see the jut of his hipbones and a hint of belly; the rest is obscured by the navy long sleeved shirt-also borrowed-that, just like the sweatpants, hangs off of the other teenager’s body. The sleeves have slid down at some point, revealing Prompto’s pale freckled shoulders and Noctis finds himself oddly transfixed by them, by the contrast of his clothes and how big they are on his best friend. By everything that is Prompto at the moment, under the toned down illumination of his new home.

His nose and cheeks are slightly red as he turns to Noctis “What a way to ruin a game night, huh?” Noctis ought to agree but he is distracted by Prompto’s red bitten lips, the places where the row of frontal teeth have dented the soft flesh there “We should turn it off, you know. Just in case there is a power outage”

“Yeah” he answers weakly and despite the affirmation doesn’t move to do what he agreed to do. Just stares at Prompto, experiencing the mild feeling he might not know how to do anything else but memorize the dimensions of his face or the subtle flush that has begun to spread beneath the ivory skin. He has the impulse then to grab Prompto by the collar of the shirt, lower it so he can follow the flush of blood, see how far it goes.

His friend laughs awkwardly and lowers his gaze, suddenly acting shy. Noctis’s mind is doing loops unable to figure out what has changed these past months, what has made him so interested in Prompto –in the way he moves, the way he laughs, the way he colors when embarrassed, the way he speaks and what he says.

Lightning strikes particularly close to the window, the white flash blinds them for a second, illuminates the darkness outside like a camera going off.

Prompto stiffens up like a board and scoots over to the left where Noctis is sitting. Their sides melt into each other from knees to elbows and shoulders as Prompto shatters his personal space, buries his face on the prince’s neck. It’s Noctis turn to freeze up. He gets a mouthful of blond hair and is assaulted by the smell of his own shampoo mixed with the natural odor that is Prompto’s alone: bubblegum and vanilla and cinnamon like the sweets he insists on eating frantically, entwined in one perfume delicious enough to make Noctis lose his bearings for a minute, want to consume it all and-

“Is this alright?” the blond whispers, his breath hot and damp on his neck. That red mouth is too close to meeting his chin, or his jaw, or his collarbones if it desired to do so “Is this not weird? I’m just… The storm and….” Prompto drifts off and Noctis lets a minute roll by in silence before he stretches one arm and curls a hand over Prompto’s bare shoulder. Fingers dig in possessively. “It’s okay, man. I know how scared shitless you get about storms”

His best friend snorts, shakes his head. Noctis can hear his beating heart through their clothes, through the many barriers separating them and combined with the rare proximity between them and the urge to tell him-

“I’ll protect you so don’t worry”

It happens as he pronounces the words, the moment he realizes how serious he is, how much he truly means them, the warm feeling on his chest and the calming, content feeling he gets as Prompto laughs at him (the soft musical sound reverberating inside his ears). He has never felt this way before. With anyone.

This is it, he thinks on a Monday night, Prompto Argentum curled up against him and his whole being radiating because of their closeness, as if he has finally solved a puzzle he had not known he had been solving until that moment. This is it: the two of them, two best friends hanging around, wasting time, telling bad jokes and playing videogames all night long. _This is his forever_.

For as long as he can remember he has been subtly told of what his forever should be, would be in the end. His father reminded him whenever he could of that blond girl he had befriended once upon a time in Tenebrae. Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, The Oracle. If it weren’t for the Empire, King Regis had said one day, he would have loved to have her as his daughter in law. But Noctis whom has met her, has spent time with her, has exchanged letters with her throughout the years knows better than most that is not the outcome the both want. To her, he is that little brother she has to protect at all costs and to him, she is that older sister figure that makes him think of his long passed mother.

As romantic and poetic it might sound to anyone else looking in from the outside, that is not the fairytale ending Noctis has dreamed of. His wish is simpler, something much more mundane than marriages between kings and princesses but to him, in this instant, it means everything. He can’t possibly think of anything more special and magic than the lazy smile Prompto is giving him over his shoulder, red staining his cheeks.

 He wants this and he wants it forever. Every day of his life, waking up to dotted skin, sunkissed hair spilled on top of pillows and those wide blue eyes looking back at him with that inner flame he has admired from the get go until they both grow wrinkly and tired.

It’s not that he falls in love.

No.

He finally recognizes the name of that emotion that plagues him in the blond’s presence.

He has been in love from that time in middle school he helped a cute, chubby boy stand up from the ground. He clasped his sweaty hand in his and when their eyes met he had felt something he wasn’t mature enough to comprehend yet and had just let it go. Nevertheless, he had known then that he had never seen such a pretty shade of blue, had never felt that manic beating inside his ribcage. Had never stared so much at another kid in his classroom, had never felt so dejected when he saw the other boy turn his back on him after another failed attempt at talking to him, and had never hated himself as much as he did those days because he wasn’t brave enough to start that wanted interaction he never seemed to get.

He is a normal sixteen year old boy that has come to terms, at last, with the simple fact that he is in love with his best friend.

* * *

 

The date is February fourteenth. They are perched on the fence of their high school’s rooftop. On the floor surrounding them are what seem to be thousands of heart shaped gift boxes that make the chaos on Noctis’s stomach feel worse. Half of them are his and the other half… are Prompto’s. The mere thought causes his hands to close into fists immediately, it pisses him off greatly; he thought he had gotten rid of Prompto’s pursuers ever since that little epiphany months ago.

Prompto, as always, looks beautiful even in his school uniform and there is nothing Noctis wants to do more than push him to the closest flat surface and mark every part of uncovered skin for the entire world to see who he belongs to. He wants to kiss that mouth that keeps gushing about how surprised he is he actually got anything (how could he not? He is the prettiest being to ever walk on Eos). However he stops himself every time he begins to lose control of his body and invades slightly the other boy’s space.

~~He is too afraid to actually do something about it. About them.~~

Instead he looks at Prompto from the corner of his eye and wonders about the mild, feverish green tone that mars his face even as he talks animatedly. Wonders at the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the rigid movements of his unnaturally tense jaw.

* * *

 

As the years go by, Noctis notices the pattern.

Every Valentine’s Day Prompto shows up looking like a junkie, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, eye bags the size of mountains, cracked lips and mood under the weather. He acts for the remainder of the day completely out of character, jumpy and paranoid, keeping away from their friends and classmates as if they are sick with something contagious. Sometimes, Noctis catches him scratching underneath the wristbands he never takes off particularly hard.

Noctis wants to ask him about it but never dares to. He respects the blond’s privacy too much to cross that invisible line Prompto has set; if it were something that important anyway, he assures himself, if it were an emergency, if there was something really wrong he’s sure Prompto would tell him about it.

Which he does.

When they’re both twenty and almost ready to depart for what they don’t know yet to be the road trip of their lives. They very last one they’ll ever have.

“Do you remember how I always got weird on Valentine’s Day?” Prompto is the one who brings it up from his position on Noctis’s bed. His hair is messed up and Noctis’s wishes he was the reason it got like that in the first place, because of too much tugging on yellow silky locks. But alas he’s just as much of a coward at twenty as he was at sixteen and hasn’t still done anything to make his forever a reality. Especially not now with the impending threat of a royal wedding on the horizon.

He freezes where he sits next to the blond boy, his back propped up by pillows “Yeah. What about it? Did something happen?” He fails miserably at hiding the concern in his voice.

Prompto frowns, looks sickly for an instant that goes by too fast “Promise me you won’t freak out, okay?”

“I promise”

* * *

 

Another night in the prince’s apartment. Tiny bottles of vodka are strewn out on the floor. Prompto hiccups and looks at his friend’s red face, at the hazy eyes that return his stare a little too intensely for someone who’s drunk.

They are seventeen and too stupid to know better; Gladio and Ignis were not with them to remind them of their recklessness when they decided to include alcohol in the conversation. Now they gaze into each other’s eyes with all the emotions they are too scared to let shine in plain daylight, the wants and the hunger and the everlasting fire of their love.

Prompto doesn’t know who started it.

One moment there is nothing. The next thing he knows is that lips can hurt if pushed together too strongly but he doesn’t care because his mouth is meeting Noctis’s mouth and it’s heaven on earth-their mouths, teeth and tongues collide sensuously in a much needed dance they have been waiting for the longest time. There is too much saliva involved (it drips down his chin) and he’s pretty sure their noses are not supposed to bump like that but he can’t be anymore content. This is Noctis, his best friend and first love and he is all that Prompto has ever dared to hope for in his life. Gorgeous, strong Noctis that kisses him like he can never get enough of Prompto’s taste or the push and pull of their tongues or their trembling, impatient hands mapping each other’s bodies.

They kiss to the point of exhaustion; their limbs too sore and their eyes too droopy to stop from shutting closed. Hands down it could have been the best moment in Prompto’s short lifespan. Except that when morning comes, Noctis doesn’t remember a thing of what happened last night and Prompto is too chicken to do a recount of the holy events so he bites his tongue and lies through his teeth. _It was nothing. We just talked._

He misses the look of disappointment on Noctis’s visage, too caught up in his own personal angst.

One week later is when Prompto gathers enough courage to tell Ignis about that night because he believes he’ll die if he doesn’t tell anyone-he can’t tell Noctis and Gladio is out of the question. Standing face to face with the advisor on the entrance of The Citadel is the first time he lets the words ‘kiss’, ‘me’ and ‘Noctis’ come out of his mouth. He gets tongue tied many times and can’t bear to look at the other man straight in the eyes but he manages. After he’s finished retelling his story Ignis just sighs and suggests things between them will work in due time, comforts him like a worried parent would and that simple gesture warms Prompto to his core.

He doesn’t know though. He remains ignorant underneath the blinding sunlight, Ignis by his side as they share thoughts in moderate tones.

He’ll regret this choice in years to come, when he finally understands what happened that faithful afternoon he took the risk of revealing a secret out loud.

But for the moment he’s satisfied with Ignis’s support and is filled with determination by the time he gets back home.

It’s a shame however when this new found determination goes down the drain at the same time he enters his room and sees a single black rose resting peacefully on the center of his bed, a sealed letter accompanying it.

No!

The blond stops a few feet before his bed and feels that his blood is now nothing more than cold ice. A slight breeze drifts in through the open window, and the overbearing scent of decaying flowers makes him want to retch right there on his bedroom floor. _This must be a mistake. Today is not even…_ In a trance, he picks up the letter with his too weak fingers and struggles to open it, his other hand clasps the ominous dark rose. For a second, he thought that the petals looked like purple bruises on top of his white sheets.

The first time was on the previous night to his sixteenth birthday. He had been about to go to bed when he noticed the strange envelope innocently peering at him from the nightstand. “ _To Prompto Argentum”_ it read on flourished writing, a crimson rose attached on the behind. That had not really scared him off although he had felt a shiver run down his spine the more he thought about what was happening. A note? A letter? An admirer? He had admirers?! How did they know where he lived?! So many questions and so little answers. It only got worse when he read the contents of the letter:

**_“How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into. “_ **

He had blinked and retraced those words that did not make absolute sense at first. He touched the careful, elaborate writing, imagining the strokes of a pen as he went along. That’s all there was to the mysterious letter, nothing more and nothing less. Despite the superficial modesty of the… gift, Prompto still felt unsettled and he didn’t know why. He spent the entire night researching for the source of the quote and eventually he found it was from a book he had been forced to read at school last year but hadn’t even bothered picking up.

It was odd and scary. Something about it felt off and while he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out he did hide the rare note/love confession/whatever it was on the top shelf of his closet and left it there to gather dust.

He was paranoid all week long and kept away from anyone else except from Noctis (why couldn’t he have been the one to write him a love note, damn it? All he wanted was for Noctis to look at him the way he did, he didn’t need anyone else’s attention).

The second time occurred on Valentine’s Day after he turned sixteen. The MO was the same asides of the sunflower that took the rose’s place. And this time, Prompto really did get scared.

**_“I have little left in myself -- I must have you. The world may laugh -- may call me absurd, selfish -- but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”_ **

The writing was more aggressive in this note, as if whoever had written it had gotten fed up with just watching and wanting from afar. The ‘a’s and ‘y’s and ‘o’s were particularly marked, the cursive manner of writing further exaggerated as this person copied the passion filled sentences from a different book. He couldn’t stand reading it for much longer and put it away somewhere where he could not see it; out of sight, out of mind.

The next day he acted like a zombie, so out of character and tried to ignore his best friend’s worried glances.

Sadly, for him, it didn't end there. It kept happening and happening and happening- and now here he is. Here he is, a black flower in one hand and a foreboding letter on the other. It’s neither his birthday nor the most romantic day of the year but there it is. Another letter when there shouldn’t have been any. Again this unknown person sneaked into his house like the midnight wind and left him another message.

He should have told Noctis, he thinks as he rips the seal. He should have called the police, he thinks as he holds the letter in his shaking hands. He thinks he should have given more importance to the situation in general as he reads the paragraph and feels the bilis threaten to climb up the walls of his throat. He thinks he's being stupid because it's just a stupid piece of paper that has him trembling and shaking in the same way he would at thinking about narrow spaces and great heights. He doesn’t understand the primal fear that he finds himself immersed in when he finishes reading, when the parched paper falls to the floor, when he stays wide awake with the lights turned on and glaring at the shadows remaining at the corners where the light cannot reach.

He needs to tell Noctis.

He will tell Noctis.

Someday, when he doesn’t feel as pathetic as he feels now.

He sits on the bed, hugs his knees and prays that he shall never meat this-

This stalker.

 

* * *

 

**_“He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?”_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave feedback because writers need constant validation and support e_____é


End file.
